


Feels Like We Only Go Backwards

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2017 [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguity, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, F/M, Forced Feminization, Insane John Winchester, M/M, Mindfuck, Non-Canonical Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Parent/Child Incest, Pre-Canon, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, but - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 01:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12545952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: Twelve years ago John Winchester’s world went up in flames.Today he wants to rebuild his family with his wife





	Feels Like We Only Go Backwards

**Author's Note:**

> This was made for SPN Kink Bingo, for the square: Dean/John
> 
> Read the tags. This is in no way, shape or form a happy story (see end-notes for spoilers)  
> If you think I've forgotten some tags let me know.
> 
> Title by the wonderful [Senna_Frost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senna_Frost/pseuds/Senna_Frost) who even agreed to give this a quick readover, any and all remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Comments, kudos and constructive critism welcome

Twelve years ago John Winchester’s world went up in flames due to faulty wiring and a poorly constructed house. Less than six months later he loaded everything he had into his truck and took off, days later stopping at the edge of a forest where he’d bought a small cabin for him and his wife.

Twelve years it’s taken for her to grow comfortable with him, to let him near, to let him comfort her as she cries in his arms before falling asleep. Twelve years of watching her grow up and back into her clothes, relearning her place in his life. Twelve years before John can no longer hold back on a desperate need to replace the family they lost, hoping it’ll help scab over the wounds more than a decade old.

-

John spends most of the day outside. Today he’s been chopping wood, letting his thoughts drift with the mindless work, thinking of a way to approach the subject. They haven’t been intimate for years, every time he’s put his hands on her she’s burst into anguished tears. And he has been patient, hasn’t pushed, but he’s convinced that this isn’t healthy and twelve years are long enough for him to have been denied.

With that thought in mind he enters the cabin at dusk, quietly sits at the kitchen table to watch her make dinner; her long, blonde hair covering her back but her bowed legs visible beneath the short skirt she’s wearing and John can’t care for trivial things like dinner when met by that, so he stands, ignores the way she flinches as he puts his hands on her shoulders, forcefully turning her around to face him.  
The thing that gets to him every time, even eighteen years after they first met, is how young she still looks. Her round, pink cheeks; the bright emerald of her eyes; the colorlessness of her full lips begging to be ravished (John remembers other things her lips used to beg for, how they looked wrapped around him with her peeking up at him through those impossible lashes of hers), and so he leans in to taste her. There’s a scrape against his skin he doesn’t remember from Before, a dry rasp as his skin drags over hers, but it doesn’t feel significant compared to the fact that he’s inside her, that he can taste the sweetness of the apple juice she’s been drinking, the feel of her tongue against his.

-

She’s every bit as tight as he remembers, being inside her every bit as blissful as before and it’s not long until he stiffens above her painting her insides in his release before bonelessly covering her from head to toe. He knows he’s probably a little too heavy and that she’ll start protesting in a minute or so, but right now he’ll stay here, content and sated.

-

Dawn’s nearly there when John finally rolls over, and on shaking legs she leaves the bed, winces at the pain where he’d been inside her as each step jostles the abused muscle.  
The lake seems further away than usual but before long the water is lapping gently at her feet, cold and soothing as it hides them, reveals them, hides them. Green, unblinking eyes carefully tracking the water’s movements before catching on their own reflection. 

The image is wrong, distorted and twisted like the person it’s reflecting; tears spilling down a cheek still rounded by baby fat as he breaks on an anguished cry of his mother’s name.

**Author's Note:**

> The premise of this story is that when the Winchesters' house burnt both Mary and Sam died. John Winchester went insane and now believes Dean to be Mary.  
> So, every time it says "she" or "his wife" or anything along those lines, the story actually refers to Dean.


End file.
